Love Song
by Sandshrew777
Summary: A day at work can be so stressful for a young Playmaker. Taylor begs Kelsi to write her a song for Chad, but Kelsi can't quite bring herself to do it. Songfic to Love Song by Sarah Bareilles. TroyGabriella, ChadTaylor, JasonKelsi.


**Author's Note: I still haven't seen High School Musical 2, so I'm just running blind. If I messed some tidbits up, my apologies. I'll try and watch it soon. Songwise, this takes place just before "You Are the Music in Me" and leading up to "I Don't Dance". I also took some liberties with the splitting up of the lyrics of the song, so that the words fit my objective instead of the song's flow in a couple parts.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. If I did, they'd be singing a whole lot more than they do. I don't own the song. "Love Song" belongs to Sara Bareilles and company.**

* * *

_Head underwater_

_And they tell me to breathe easy for a while_

_The breathing gets harder, even I know that_

I decide to take a dip in the pool. I'm officially on my half-hour break, and Gabriella assured me that Fulton said he was leaving a half hour ago to play a round of golf, and that game takes forever so I know I've got the time.

I give a quick wave to Gabbi before plunging in, feeling the sudden shock of being submerged in water instead of air and reveling in it. It's not something I advertise, but I really enjoy the water. It has that therapeutic effect on me; after seeing me straining over a composition for hours, my mom usually frog-marches me to the bathroom and forces me to take a nice, long bath. I have to say, it really hits the spot.

Figuring that I won't have much time (it'll take me at least five minutes to fully change out of my swimsuit and into my uniform) to get back to work, I take a few dives down at the deep end, perform a few in-water somersaults, and then do my traditional "how long can Kelsi hold her breath before she passes out or gets bored" bit, going down under. My left hand clamps onto my nose and my right struggles to keep me fighting the principle of buoyancy as my short legs kick about in the water. The last time I did this, Gabbi jumped in to save me (I was hoping it was that cute Spanish lifeguard, Alejandro, but alas), so I make sure to keep my feet underneath the surface his time so she doesn't suspect anything awry. Gabbi's a sweetheart; I don't want to actually make her work! She deserves some time to rest and tan.

After "35, Mississippi" I'm finding it a bit hard to breathe, but I treat it like a dotted whole note with a fermata linked into a key change whole note in an opera solo and surge onward. At "49, Mississippi" I'm feeling a bit light-headed, but I know I can hold on for a bit longer, and right after "72, Mississippi" I decide to give up the ghost and come up for some air. It's always good to go into a float after doing that, so I do, allowing the tranquil exercise to give me some time to breathe and reflect on things.

_You made room for me but it's too soon to see_

_If I'm happy in your hands_

As it usually seems to, my mind floats around to the subject of my new friends. Admittedly, the Drama Club members were relatively friendly to me, even Ryan (although I think it's just because he sometimes forgets that he's supposed to stick his nose up at me), but when it came to having heart-to-hearts with people, I had only my parents to talk to, and they don't get the problems of today's teenagers. For them, a milkshake and fries or a drive-in movie cured everything. Now, that'll just get me fat and pregnant.

Still, it was a lot of fun working with Troy and Gabbi. New girls don't really know what I'm like, so it was a learning experience for the both of us. It took a while to get her comfortable blasting out those notes like the diva she knows she can be, but it was well worth the "I'm sorry, I didn't play that bit quite right---can we do it again, from measure twelve?" hoodwinks to get her through it. As for Troy, he had no problem singing loudly, or energetically, but it was really tough to get him to slow down and hold notes. He'd just barrel right into the song at full voice, and by the time we were halfway through our session, he'd lose a good half of his lower register. I made him iron out the notes every time we worked together, painstakingly, and sometimes even a cappella, forcing Troy to slow down and use his head instead of his fast-paced basketball nature. I think it worked.

It was really nice of him to give me the game ball at the end of the championship game. (It was even nicer when Jason helped me make the basket, but I don't think Troy has the mental capacity to plan something like that.) Even during the celebrations and after-party, though, I still felt like a bit of an outsider. I got to know Martha a lot better there, and we've even gone shopping a few times since. Ryan and I even flirted a bit (I really don't think he should consume more than three Mai Tais, ever), before Jason decided (at the party), with the help of everybody's favorite friend, alcohol, that we should become an item. I swear, if Ryan wasn't as oblivious as he usually is, I would have thought that smirk he gave us as he headed over to bug his sister meant that he had planned the whole thing.

Jason and I are pretty casual, hanging out when we can and doing a little bit of light kissing and groping, but neither of us are too comfortable with taking things fast. I was surprised when he admitted that to me. I guess I'm just not as perceptive with these people as I think I am sometimes. It'll take time.

_I'm unusually hard to hold on to_

Time, of course, is not something I have a lot of right now. I lazily check my waterproof watch and find that I have a total of seven minutes to get back on the clock. Collapsing out of my float, I make my way smoothly to the shallow end, finally getting to a spot where I can touch down and walk out of the pool. On the way to the changing rooms, I see Sharpay and Ryan, whom I feel obliged to greet.

"Hey, guys! Sorry, can't stay, gotta run, good to see you!" I chirp as I zip past.

_Blank stares at blank pages_

"Hi, Kelsi. Bye, Kelsi," Ryan jokes, waving as I rapidly shuffle past.

Sharpay doesn't even bother to make a grunt of acknowledgement. She's still a bit miffed about the whole _Twinkle Towne_ thing. I say that she can shove it where the sun doesn't shine. Well, okay, I really wouldn't say that because it's A) rude, and B) death-welcoming to say something like that to Sharpay. Fine with me, though; the less time I have to spend interacting with Sharpay, the stronger my sanity will be.

_No easy way to say this_

_You mean well, but you make this hard on me_

I mean, I'm already stressing over Ryan. I'm still not entirely sure I'm reading his signals right. Sometimes, he's so incredibly gay that I'm waiting for him to scream, "FABULOUS!!" and carry a pink Prada 'man-bag' around filled with make-up and stuff. Other times, I think he's trying to flirt with me, although that's lessened since the whole Mai Tai incident. He's really a sweetheart, and, like Gabbi, he doesn't mean to do any harm (unless he's involved in one of Sharpay's nefarious "plans", in which case he does, but it's only because he can't stand to tell her no), but he makes me worry sometimes about what Jason will do if he catches him at it. They're both too sweet to get into a fight, especially over me. It'd be like two candy canes attacking each other. It just doesn't make sense.

_I'm not gonna write you a love song_

_'Cause you asked for it_

_'Cause you need one, you see_

_I'm not gonna write you a love song_

_'Cause you tell me it's_

_Make or breaking this_

"Are you decent, sweetheart?" a voice asks. At first, it's so low that I think it's Jason's, but a second later I realize that it's Taylor's. We're not all that close, Taylor and I, but I appreciate her intelligence in chem class, and she admires mine in music theory.

"Come on in," I call, running a towel over my arms one last time as I fumble with my hair tie.

"I need something from you, if you could," she announces briskly, striding over to me. Her face belies her body language; she moves with an assertive grace, but her eyes are troubled and I can see that she's biting her lip.

"What is it?" I ask, taking a proferred piece of paper. It's a rather poorly written love poem with a simple ABAB rhyme scheme and no rhythm whatsoever.

"Can you turn that into a song? I was, um, going to sing it for Chad on our six-month anniversary next week," she admits, blushing slightly. It's not a good look for her.

"I can't," I immediately respond, and her face falls. My conscience prickles at me, and I look at the paper again. Well...

"You see, it doesn't have a chorus. I need at least a chorus, and maybe a bridge, too, before I can turn it into a song. And it's your poem, so I don't want to screw it up by making one up, you know?" I try to concede, and Taylor nods.

"So if I can write a chorus and a bridge, you'll do it?" she asks, her face set in an expectant mask. I sigh inwardly at my inability to tell people no (it's going to get me in trouble one of these days), and nod.

_If you're on your way_

_I'm not gonna write you to stay_

_If all you have is leaving I'm gonna need a better reason to write you _

_A love song _

_Today_

"Sure. I gotta run, though, Taylor, uh...see you later?" I fire, waving as I shut the locker and zip for the country club. Two minutes. I can do this.

Two harried faceplants into the sod later, I make it into the kitchen right on time and clock in, out of breath.

"You look you've been run over by a rhino," Chad jibes, hanging an order on the window. I fake a sweet smile as I push past him.

"And you look like you've got a Pomeranian nesting in your head. Don't even try the appearance jokes, Chad, you don't have a leg to stand on," I joke as I head out into the main room to entertain the patrons with some background music. I hear Chad laugh---thank goodness he took that as a joke, because he's been twitchy lately---as I exit.

_I learned the hard way_

_That they all say things you want to hear,_

_And my heavy heart sinks deep down under you and_

_Your twisted words_

As I cross to the piano and start playing some random assortment I could do with my eyes closed, my mind rests on Chad. He seems to be a bit out of it, lately. I know he and Troy have been having some friction with basketball stuff and college and all that. Thank goodness he and Taylor are still going strong.

See, the weird thing with Chad is that he doesn't tell you what he really means. He just tells you what he thinks you should know, and then moves along. The only time we really conversed last year was when I was positioned in front of the revised tryouts list---so that I could attract Troy or Gabriella's attention to it---and he didn't even know my name. I mean, we'd been in the same grade for all our lives, and even in the same homeroom for two years straight, and he still didn't know it? He just wanted to let me know that I really didn't matter in the whole grand scheme of things. It was just how Chad was, or so I thought at the time.

_Your help just hurts_

On the way to the basketball game, Sharpay had managed to catch up with me (minus Ryan, a rarity) and attempted to tell me just how much my "help" meant to her.

_You are not what I thought you were_

"Kelsi, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will make sure Miss Darbus---" she started.

"Takes the stick out of her ass and hits you with it, Sharpay. Leave her alone," Chad suddenly said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and stepping in between the two of us.

"Have it your way, Danforth," Sharpay said after a moment, stomping off to the game in a dignified huff. Chad turned around.

"You okay, Kelsi?" he asked. I stared at him for a good second or two, and found genuine concern in his eyes and demeanor. He wasn't posturing for anybody. This, I realized, was just as much Chad as the slightly snobbish, change-resistant asshole I had thought he was before. Like I've said before, I don't really know them as well as I think I do.

"Yeah. Thanks, Chad," I replied sure-footedly after that little moment.

"Anything for a Wildcat," he grinned as he sped off to the gymnasium.

"Good luck!" I called, just as he spun out of sight.

_Hello to high and dry_

Speaking of spinning, I imagine there were a lot of heads spinning at the after party that night. Not only did the Mai Tai incident go down (and there's a lot more to that, but I've kind of blacked it out and I'd rather not color it back in again, for security reasons), but there was also the infamous "N/A Corner", of which I was---am---a proud member. All the non-drinkers (including Martha, Zeke, Gabriella, and myself) congregated there to giggle at the drinkers' antics. It was all in good fun, although there was one moment that wasn't so wonderful.

_Convinced me to please you_

_Made me think that I need this too_

I had gotten up to get some more water for Zeke and myself and found Troy at the "punch" bowl, nursing the classic plastic red cup.

"How's it going, Playmaker?" the very, very 'happy' Troy asked.

"I'm good. I see you're having a good time," I indicated, chuckling slightly so as to let him know that I was joking. He looked down, then laughed loudly.

"Oh, yeah, that. Yeah, don't tell Gabbi, but I'm a little snozzled. Snarzled. Sherbet. Schumann. 'Seven swans a'swimming,'" Troy sang glibly, making me break down into giggles. Even when he's drunk, the guy's still a cute goofball.

"Why don't you have some?" he asked, pushing the cup towards me. I actually took it and nearly took a sip. After all, Troy was still the same kind of guy he always was---wouldn't it be the same for me?

After a second of thought, I handed it back to Troy, holding up my water bottle.

"I can't. I'm driving, remember?" I reminded him. He smacked his forehead.

"Oh, yeah, duh! Okay, no drinky-winky for the Playmaker tonight!" Troy spurted, shaking his finger in my face. I chuckled.

"Hey, Troy! There's some jello shots over here with your name on 'em," one of the basketball players called, and the Wildcat cheer immediately started up as Troy wandered over to them.

"Have fun, Troy," I called, returning to the N/A Corner to watch this interesting little fiasco.

_I'm trying to let you hear me as I am_

Under my breath, I sing this song---the fifth of the hour---under my breath. It's one of my own creations, and I'm actually pretty proud of it. It's based on Troy and Gabriella, because A) they are by far the cutest couple I've ever seen, and B) I think they've really got what it takes to go the distance. I've seen the way they look at each other, the way they've looked at each other when there's nobody else looking. I may be wrong about some of the other Wildcats, but I'm pretty confident I'm right when I say that these two have a love that's never going to fail. Sure, it might have its trouble spots, but those will be pretty minor in the grand scheme of things, like an instrumental solo you need to bridge pieces in a medley.

_I'm not gonna write you a love song_

_'Cause you asked for it_

They never asked me for a love song. They never ask anybody for anything, actually, which is what makes the two of them so endearing. They just exist all on their own, without any help or poking or prodding from much of anybody.

Well, okay, so Chad and Taylor tried that whole "break them apart for our own selfish means" thing, but they were already so into each other by the time that whole thing went down. I know; remember, music lessons? It's hard to ignore those kind of sparks when they keep setting your best compositions on fire.

_'Cause you need one, you see_

Still, though, I felt like they needed a song that was a kind of ode, a kind of song where you hear it and say, "That reminds me of Troy and Gabriella." So, I wrote it.

_I'm not gonna write you a love song_

_'Cause you tell me it's_

_Make or breaking this_

Everybody thought it was really good---good enough to get Troy to agree to do the talent show. He has a lot on his plate, so I was a bit surprised when he agreed. Then again, this kind of thing isn't work for Troy, it's fun. It certainly wouldn't overtax him or anything like that.

_If you're on your way_

_I'm not gonna write you to stay_

_If all you have is leaving, I'm gonna need a better reason to write you _

_A love song _

_Today_

In the end, I wrote the song because I needed to get it out of me. These kind of things build up inside of me, and the ideas don't let me go until I finally commit them to paper, and then to the staff. It's a bit of an obsession, I'll admit, but I really love writing a good song, so it's okay.

It's also a good thing that the two of them aren't on the rocks, like Sharpay and Zeke, who go through more ups and downs than a roller coaster stuck inside a pinball machine. I don't think I've ever written a song where people go their separate ways and all that. I don't think I really have it in me to do such a sad song. I think it would have to be more of a paean from one of them to the other, begging to be taken back. Break-up songs just aren't my thing. Songs are meant for celebrating things, and break-ups are nothing to celebrate (unless you're getting out of an abusive relationship, in which case, mazeltov!).

_Promise me that you'll leave the light on_

_To help me see with daylight, my guide, gone_

_'Cause I believe there's a way you can love me_

"You want this off, Kels?" Jason asks me. I look up, my fingers working on auto-pilot for me. He's got a huge thing of dirty dishes in his hands, having just picked them up from the busing station, and nods at my little lamp that I use to illuminate my music. The main lights are on, now that it's getting later (have I really been playing for three hours?), so I guess he thought I might not need it anymore.

"Nah, leave it on, Jase, thanks," I reply quickly, giving him a quick wink as he adjusts the bin of dishes in his hands. He winks back as he heads back into the kitchen, and I make it a point to lean over a bit so that I can take a look at that beautiful ass of his. Seriously, you can grate cheese on that sucker.

Not that I've ever tried, of course.

_Because I say_

_I won't write you a love song_

_'Cause you asked for it_

_'Cause you need one, you see_

"Kelsi, you got a sec?" Taylor says. She's been leaning on the piano for the last thirty measures, waiting for me to finish. I put in a few extra ritardandos for her benefit.

"What do you need, Tay?" I ask briskly, pretending to shift through my music for something different to play.

"How is it now?" she asks, thrusting the piece of notebook paper into my face. I take it quickly, scanning the new chorus and bridge she's added. It's pretty juvenile, which is surprising, for Taylor. I guess English really isn't her thing. At least it's manageable.

"I'll see what I can do, Tay," I tell her truthfully. She's not convinced.

"Please, Kelsi. I really need this. I'll owe you one," she wheedles. I roll my eyes, playfully.

_I'm not gonna write you a love song_

_'Cause you tell me it's make or breaking this_

"Taylor, I don't see why you're so worried about your six-month anniversary. You know boys---hell, you know Chad! You could get him a stuffed bunny rabbit and he'd have the same reaction. The only way you're going to get him excited about a present is if you wrap yourself in a big red bow and spread your legs," I joke acerbically. Instead of the giggles I was expecting, I got instead a forlorn expression.

"I know, Kelsi. Trust me, I know," Taylor says, half to herself, crossing her arms in thought. I abruptly abandoned any pretense of playing while she was here and reached for her arm.

"Tay? What's wrong?" I ask, eyes flickering behind my glasses. She bites her lip, and leads me down the hall into an abandoned room so we could talk in private. I stand where she left me as she begins to pace, obviously nervous. I don't want to push her too hard, so I just stand there, waiting for her to say something first.

"Chad and I...we're not doing too well," Taylor admits finally, head down in the pace. I let her move at her own pace, again.

"I want to take the next step. He's not too sure," she reveals. My jaw drops a little bit; a virile teenager who doesn't want sex out of his girlfriend? I knew I was lucky when Jason told me he wanted to take it slow, too, but Chad was actually spurning her advances?

Damn.

Suddenly Pomeranian-for-hair's looking mighty fine on the rating scale.

_Is that why you wanted a love song?_

"Is that why you wanted me to do this?" I ask, holding up the paper. She nods, still in pacing mode.

"I know it's a stupid poem, full of racy, cutesy crap, but I thought it might be worth a shot, especially with this kind of striptease I've been trying to learn," Taylor goes on. I raise an eyebrow. Striptease? Taylor? She must have broken her vibrator if she's that desperate for this boy.

Either that, or he's hung like a frickin' Arabian.

_'Cause you asked for it?_

_'Cause you need one, you see_

"Taylor, honey, do you really think a little song and dance would make Chad give in and have sex---" I start.

"Make love," Taylor forcefully interrupted, stopping stone cold in her pace and affixing me with an algid stare.

"All right, make love," I acquiesce cautiously, "To you? Do you think that's all it would take to make him give in?" I press. It's a little pushy, and a little snarky, I know, but sometimes, with Taylor, you've got to ram the idea home, or else she just plain won't listen.

"I thought it was worth a try," she mumbles, eyes downcast and staring at the floor.

_I'm not gonna write you a love song_

_'Cause you tell me it's make or breaking this_

"Tay, you are so stupid," I say with as much genuine compassion as I can muster, stepping into her personal space enough so she can't slap me before I can finish, "You've got yourself a boy who wants to take things slow, to make the good stuff last, and you want him to throw that away? Don't you know how good you've got it?" I ask, trying to push it home, taking her hands in mine and rubbing them in friendly concern.

_If you're on your way_

_I'm not gonna write you to stay_

"But I don't want that!" Taylor suddenly screams, pulling away and pacing again. "I want someone who I can just...just screw whenever I need to!" she proclaims. I shake my head.

_If your heart is nowhere in it_

_I don't want it for a minute_

"Really, Tay? 'Cause that sounds like a fuck buddy, not a lover," I fire back.

"That's not what I mean!" she screeches, pacing faster now, speeding around me in a circle.

"Then what do you mean, Taylor? Two seconds ago you wanted Chad to make love to you, but now you want to 'just screw' him," I push the needle in further, trying to wade past the bullshit and find out what's really going on.

Taylor keeps pacing, faster and faster, determined on keeping up the circle, but she says nothing.

"You know what I think, honey?" I say, reaching out and grabbing her arm, stopping her progress. She heaves back and forth a little, on the verge of tears.

"I think you're scared that you really, really like him. Maybe even love him," I drive the needle home, plunging it deep into her heart.

_Babe, I'll walk the seven seas when I believe that_

"I'm not! I can't love Chad Danforth, I...I won't!" she claims, thrashing against my iron grip.

"I don't believe that for a second," I say, using my other arm to hold Taylor in place.

"Listen to me, Taylor. You like Chad. You like him a lot. Just talk to him about it. Chad's a nice guy, he'll listen to you," I advise, but Taylor's hearing none of it.

"I can't, Kels, I just can't!" she wails.

"Why not?" I ask, pressing harder.

"Because he's not interested in me! Because he obviously thinks I'm just a fat, worthless piece of shit that he'd never want to love in a million years!" she finally admits, then collapses into my arms, weeping. I pat her back; finally, the real reason comes out.

"Taylor, you are a beautiful, smart, vivacious woman. You deserve Chad, and he's lucky to have you," I say carefully, rubbing her back soothingly, "Why do you think he's working this job, which he absolutely hates? It's not for Troy, it's not for his mom, it's for you. He wants to buy a car that's worthy of driving you around in," I tell her shoulder blade. She sobs heavier, and we stand there for a good minute or two before she pulls away, wiping at her eyes.

_There's a reason to write you _

_A love song _

_Today _

"You're right, Kelsi. I'm such an idiot," she promptly berates herself.

"No, you're just a lovestruck fool. There's a difference," I tell her. She breaks a grin and laughter escapes.

"Thanks, Kels," she says, swooping in for one more hug before we stride out together. We make each other strong, her and I---she gives me the backbone I need to let out my snarky (but well-intentioned) side, and I give her the chance to spill her insecurities to a friend that cares.

As she leaves and I resume my spot at the piano, I realize I'm still holding her stupid poem in my hands. I go to throw it in the garbage can next to the piano, but something stays my hand. With a little work and a little love, I think to myself, this piece of cow dung can actually be a pretty, syrupy little ballad. I hum the new melody that flits into my head and unconsciously start to tap it out on the piano, completely ignorant of the customers for whom I'm playing. The only people in my mind are Chad and Taylor. This love song is for them.

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**Author's Note: Please review!**


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